


Talladega

by carriecmoney



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU - Filming, M/M, Older Characters, Stunt Driver/Stunt Double AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney/pseuds/carriecmoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is an abundance of talent that goes into any motion picture, and it's not just the faces that get put to film. This the story of two pieces of that talent pool, re-edited. Stunt man!Daichi/stunt driver!Suga AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talladega

**Author's Note:**

> {A/N: It's Very Important that y'all know how important stunt driver!Suga is to my life. Also, if y'all are interested, I am rather desperate for volleyball anime friends, so hmu at [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) or [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com), I am easily befriended. Also, [here's the cars/haircuts featured in this fic](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com/post/122692487331).}

It was early March, and Daichi had been in Atlanta for two days when he first met Koushi Sugawara.

“Call me Suga,” the other man yelled over the chaos of the hotel bar where the movie crew was having their informal filming kickoff party. Daichi nodded as they shook hands – Suga’s face was soft, but his hands were hard and calloused, scarred – burned. He was already in love with those hands.

“Daichi,” he said, leaning in so he didn’t have to shout. Suga turned his head a little, honey eyes still staring him down. Where did he _get_ eyes like that? “I heard we’ll be working together a lot.”

Suga tilted his head at him, eyes narrowed, then brightened. “You’re Hajime Iwaizumi’s double, huh?”

Daichi laughed. “As much as he needs one.”

Suga’s nose wrinkled. “You’ve worked with him before, huh?”

Daichi shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Mostly pinch work when his usual guy wasn’t available. That guy’s wife is eight months pregnant now, though, so, here I am.” Daichi glanced him over. “You’re young to be Mr. Yasufumi’s guy, though?”

Suga laughed, eyes slits. “It’s the hair,” he said, running a hand through his grey mop. “Gets me all the old guy gigs.” He grinned. “I mean, they could throw a wig on anyone, but why do that when I’m right here?” He crossed his arms with a shrug. “Can’t complain, I guess.”

Daichi clenched a fist to keep from reaching out and touching it. “So that’s natural, then?”

“Unfortunately.” Suga snorted. “Family trait.” Daichi was about to ask, but Suga shifted on his feet and looked back at the bar, swinging his empty Stella bottle, before glancing down at Daichi’s almost-empty glass. “I can get you another, if you want.”

“Oh?” Daichi glanced down at his ice cubes. “I don’t want to take up your whole party,” he said even as he handed the glass over, fingers brushing. Suga laughed again, wild and free.

“No worry of that!” He slid in closer so he didn’t have to scream, body heat radiating. “This is actually my first full movie, so it’d be nice to get some pointers from a professional.” He winked, and Daichi gulped.

“Oh, sure, I don’t mind, no.” He licked his lips. “Whiskey on the rocks?”

Suga winked and tapped his chest with his bottle. “You got it, sweetheart.”

* * *

In the final cut, the opening credits would be rolling, but on set, they were three hot and sticky months into filming, one long day after another after another. Daichi didn’t remember what it was like not to ache, bruises covered by costume and makeup each morning. He’d been kept from serious injury by the in-depth precautions put together by the stunt coordinator and his team, but jumping in, out, around, and in front of moving vehicles would always hurt. Why did it have to be a car chase movie?

In his second breath he saw Suga waving him over from a row of folding chairs and cursed that thought away. He collapsed on the chair on the end next to his stunt driver, groaning as he smiled and handed him a bottle of water.

“You look like hell.” Daichi glared at him, the familiar heart heat dull behind his sweat and pulled muscles. Suga grinned and patted his shoulder. “A sexy hell, of course.”

Daichi chugged half the water bottle, glaring at him the whole way, before breaking for air, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “You’re a bad man, Sugawara.” Suga laughed and thumped his shoulder harder, hitting an old bruise. Daichi winced, and Suga’s face went soft again.

“Poor baby,” Suga crooned, petting his tricep. Daichi pulled a face. “Need some ice for your boo-boo?”

“Oh, fuck off.” Daichi rolled his shoulder back and away from his too-hot touch. “ _You_ gave me that one, asshole.”

“Did I?” Suga bared his teeth more than grinned. “I’ve lost track of who I’ve hit, I guess.”

“Can’t believe they employed a sadist,” Daichi grumbled just loud enough for Suga to hear. Suga thumbed his nose at him as he stood, wandering off without a word. Daichi watched his ass go, exhaustion making his focus narrow to the fray high on Suga’s thigh that flashed bare skin and a peek of red boxers with every step. But they disappeared behind a camera rig, and Daichi blinked, world flooding his senses again. He watched the little director talking with Hajime about the facetime part of the scene, downing his water on autopilot as he let his head empty out, tired enough to meditate with his eyes open – a trick he taught himself back in high school during government class.

He was brought out of his trance with a cold jolt. He jumped in his chair to find Suga standing by his shoulder, pressing an ice pack to it. Suga smiled at him, sweaty hair stuck to his face. “Where do you go when you zone out like that?”

“Nowhere.” He rubbed at his neck; Suga switched hands around to hold the icepack with his left and massage with his right, standing behind Daichi. “It’s just – my grandfather, who started the dojo after he immigrated, he was big on meditation. I don’t do it religiously or anything, but it just sort of… happens, when I’m tired." He turned his head to smile up at Suga. “Been happening a lot lately.”

Suga yawned as an answer. They laughed, and Daichi reached up to adjust the ice pack on his shoulder, fingers brushing Suga’s cold ones. Dud they twitch under his touch? “Does it help?” Suga asked.

Daichi dropped his hand. “A little.”

Suga sighed. “You’ll have to teach me sometime.”

Daichi nodded. “Add it to the list,” he said as the whistle blew for the call back to action. They groaned in unison, Daichi struggling to his feet as Suga dropped the ice pack to his old chair. Something brushed the back of his elbow – Daichi turned, but Suga breezed past him, bags under his eyes dark even through his minor amounts of makeup (for a set, anyway).

Suga smiled, radiant again. “Let’s go beat you up some more, tough guy.” Daichi moaned and followed him to the cars.

* * *

The second action scene of the movie was set outside at night, which meant cramming as much filming as possible in the shrinking hours of the Georgia May nighttime. Everyone was crankier during nocturnal filming, tempers flaring at tenth takes at three in the morning. Daichi was no exception, growling at his riggers at every adjustment, but Suga remained a constant, too pleased to be behind the wheel of the Alfa Romeo that was as much a star as the lead actors to be put off by a few all-nighters.

When false dawn officially ruined their lighting, the set manager dismissed the night crew, keeping the actual actors behind for a dialogue set in the golden hour. Fine by Daichi, even though he knew Hajime would be a bear come the evening. Tomorrow’s problem.

There was a bus back to the motel the studio had practically bought for filming, but Suga never took it, preferring to drive himself in his flashy coupe that had maybe been a Pontiac in a previous life, its custom paint job shining in five different colors.

(Daichi had learned barely a week into shooting that he had driven cross-country from LA in it, but he always had a new reason why when it came up. Daichi had concluded that, well, it was love. He could understand that.)

Daichi usually took the bus, too exhausted to care about his transportation, but this time Suga caught him at the filming barricade. “You wanna know the best part about filming in this state?” he asked Daichi, wildflower face still wide awake.

Daichi blinked. “The low tax rates?”

Suga shook his head. “ _Waffle House_.” When Daichi just blinked again, Suga grinned and snatched his elbow, dragging him to his car. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Daichi found himself guided to Suga’s sunset sports car, shoved in the passenger seat as Suga yattered on about hashbrowns and grease. When he met Suga back in March, he’d never thought _tireless_ would be his dominant character trait.

As Suga turned on his car and the engine rumbled through Daichi’s feet, he got a flash of what a terrible mistake he’d made. “You don’t drive crazy _all_ the time, do you?” he asked. Suga cut his eyes at him.

“It’s not _crazy_ , it’s _precise_.” Suga raised his chin as he backed out of his parking spot with the pinpoint accuracy Daichi had come to expect from him. He jerked the car into gear and spun out of the lot, laughing when Daichi clutched the door and the center console. “Had to wake you up somehow!” he said, rolling down the windows and turning up the radio. The wind whipped through his hair (sheared, to match Mr. Yasufumi) as he laughed, that wild and free cackle Daichi had acquired a healthy fear of. He’d been around a lot of risk-takers – his business was built on daredevils – but no one he’d met had this riptide personality. He was calm, he was supportive, he was tireless – but all of that swirled over an undertow of recklessness, wine under water. Daichi had been punch drunk since Mardi Gras.

Suga wound through the deserted dawn streets of south Atlanta, living in fourth gear for the ten minutes it took to find a Waffle House – like finding a modeling agency back in LA, or a coffeeshop in Seattle. Impossible to miss.

Suga swung into its parking lot and backed into a spot; watching him drive was like watching starlings murmurate. The sudden silence at the cutoff of the radio woke up Daichi up as much as the drive. He extracted himself from the deep bucket seat, mourning the leather loss, as Suga hopped out, spinning his keys around his finger. “You definitely drive like a stunt driver,” Daichi said, slow and heavy.

Suga grinned. “Family trait.” He led the way through the double glass doors; Daichi followed him to a sticky booth, sitting across from him as Suga waved at the staff, who were counting their tips at the counter. It was too early for a crowd, although a few early birds shoved waffles and eggs in their mouths at counter. Daichi would regret it later, but he ordered coffee, glancing over the laminated menu as Suga rattled off a practiced order. Daichi got waffles and a side of bacon, then frowned at Suga when the waitress walked away to yell at the line cook.

“You keep talking about this ‘family trait’ thing, but you never explain it.” Suga sighed and sat back, running both hands through his short tousled hair.

“You had to notice, huh?” Daichi waited, accepting his coffee with a smile to the waitress, adding sugar to it as Suga stared into his, spinning it idly on the table by the handle. “I grew up with my mom,” he said, wild edge lost to the morning wind. “She runs a body shop back in LA – we get a lot of fancy clients. Before that, though, she was one of the first women to work in the Talladega pits.” He kept spinning his mug, keeping his eyes down. This was the longest he’d ever spoken to Daichi without looking at him. “And, well. My father’s a NASCAR driver.” He scratched his head. “And they’re… not exactly married? Or, at least. She’s not.”

Daichi blinked, worn-out gears clinking in his head. “Oh.” Suga rubbed the back of his neck, head bowed.

“Dad’s always been good to me,” he mumbled. Daichi leaned in as his volume decrescendoed. “He got me my first gig – some Chevy commercial he couldn’t make.” He shrugged and gulped his black coffee before he spoke again, voice cracking. “But, well, who can blame Sandra – his wife – for hating me?”

“Oh.” Daichi’s brow furrowed. “Wait, you’re telling me there’s someone in this world who hates you? _You_?”

Suga laughed, a jerk, and _finally_ looked up at Daichi again. “She’s kind of a bitch, to be fair.”

Daichi smiled over his coffee. “She’d have to be.”

* * *

The third action scene of the movie had too many cop cars and not a lot of crossover stunts, but Daichi ended up living on set anyway, training with Hajime and the other stuntmen, filming filler shots for the editors to use as padding. Koushi was finally starting to crack under the stress of a full movie’s workload five months in, on edge when he wasn’t behind the wheel; the only thing that could calm him down was driving his Romeo or working on him with the set mechanics. He’d winnowed himself into the team for Romeo One (there were three of them, but this one was his favorite) soon after starting and was the lead in all but name now, keeping him in fighting order between each take.

That’s where Daichi found him on an early August afternoon, ankles and boots the only thing showing from under the belly of the beast. Daichi hooked two fingers in his laces and rolled him out, Koushi squawking at him until he saw his face. Koushi huffed, but couldn’t rein in his smile. “I could’ve had a live wire in my hand, y’know,” he said, grown-out hair splayed in a grey halo on his board. Daichi shrugged and held out his hands to help him up.

“Yeah, but you didn’t.” Koushi took his wordless offer and let him be tugged to his feet, almost falling into Daichi’s chest. Daichi held him steady with a wide hand on his lower back; Koushi purred.

“I bet we’d be the first ones to have sex in my Romeo,” he murmured, tracing up the center of Daichi’s chest, making him shiver through his shirt. Daichi raised an eyebrow.

“Do you _want_ to be fired?” he asked with a little smile. Koushi wrinkled his nose.

“Maybe? It’d be worth it.” Daichi huffed and, after a quick glance around the rented garage for onlookers, cupped Koushi’s face in his palms to hold him still for a kiss, deep and lingering. Koushi gripped his sweat-heavy shirt and kissed back, mouths dovetailing for better access. Daichi yanked away, face hot.

“No.” Koushi pouted; Daichi kissed it away. “No sex on set. We agreed.” Koushi rolled his eyes.

“Stupid rules. Why do we have them again?” Daichi chuckled as Koushi tugged him into another kiss, sighing into him. He circled his thumbs into Koushi’s cheeks as he extracted his tongue from where Koushi had sucked it into his mouth.

“For _exactly_ this reason, Koushi. Now finish up what you were doing so we can get somewhere more private.” Koushi opened his mouth to argue, but Daichi pressed his finger to his lips. “Already talked to Ukai, and he agreed – you’re working too hard. You’re not the _only_ driver on set, you know.” Koushi glanced over his shoulder at his Romeo. “He’ll be fine alone for a day.”

“I guess I could use a break,” Koushi mumbled, staring at his hands on Daichi’s chest. “I’m just jittery.”

Daichi smirked. “I know how to fix that.”

* * *

These were the scenes that got cut from the movie:

A scene with Mr. Yasufumi and his estranged family – it dragged the movie’s pace to a halt, and no one liked his teenaged son’s actor anyway.

A connector between two chase scenes, where Daichi had to jump between a speeding car and a train. It ate up a painful, stressful week in June, but he got paid for it, and it was the first time he’d seen Suga panic about a stunt, planting another seed in his hopeful furrow.

A scene where an overpass blew up, because they straight ran out of budget. They had to shove it all to post CGI. Suga wept for days at the missed chance to be airborne in his Romeo.

Several dialogue-heavy scenes that neither stuntman not driver had any involvement in, so they barely even noticed their absence from the script.

Two alternate endings, one a death scene for the estranged family removed from the film, and one a sequel hook that got laughed out of the editing room for reasons unknown.

* * *

Late in June, Daichi was sitting on the curb of the street they had commandeered for the weekend with Hajime, strange twins with different faces under identical haircuts and clothes. They passed a Nalgene bottle of a protein shake back and forth as they rested between takes in the only patch of natural shade in this God-forsaken city. As far as multimillion actors went, Hajime was a decent sort, never pulling his fame or money as a trump card and focusing on getting the job done. If he had any flaws, it would be his thick head over doing his own stunts and having to be dragged away to let the professionals handle it. He was a good listener, though.

Hajime jerked his chin at Romeo as it circled around to where Mr. Yasufumi and the director were waiting. “You made your move yet?”

Daichi struggled not to choke on their shake. “Uh – no, no, not yet.”

Hajime cut his eyes at him. “You’re going to regret waiting this long, kid.”

“I’m older than you.”

“And I’ve had more sex than you.” Daichi cuffed the back of his head; Hajime punched his side, trying not to smile. “Bitch.”

“Look who’s talking.” Hajime took the shake back as Suga poked his head out of the open window, arms dangling over the door as he listened to Mr. Yasufumi and the director battle it out. He saw the other two staring and waved, breeze ruffling his hair. Daichi grinned back, ears flaring. Hajime watched them, snorting.

“Seriously, dude, I know exactly what it’s like to crush on a coworker on set.” Daichi glanced at Hajime – he’d never get used to the casual way he referred to Tooru Oikawa and the heavily-rumored _thing_ they’d supposedly had on their last movie together. Hajime had been quick to confirm to him that yes, it was real, and yes, he still had a pair of the other actor’s underwear held hostage. He shrugged it all off as easy as you please, but he was the first one to pick up the way Daichi’s eyes lingered on the curve of Suga’s throat. Now, sitting on the pavement, he knocked back more of their shake with another shrug. “You’re only going to regret waiting so long.”

Daichi nodded, frowning at the asphalt under his boots. “Next chance I get. Promise.”

“Chances don’t just happen,” Hajime said as he stood, dropping the empty Nalgene in Daichi’s lap. “They’re made.”

* * *

The end of the first act of the movie’s three part structure took twelve days and a hundred thirty-five hours of July to complete, a truly ludicrous amount of film for any five-minute segment. It was strenuous on the real actors, but since Koushi had to toss Daichi from the car off a parking deck through his open door mere days after their first kiss in a Talladega pit – well, it was stressful for them, too.

At the end of the eleventh day, Koushi followed Daichi back to his room without a word, just a hand in hand. They squeezed back and forth as Daichi unlocked the door and stepped in. It barely clicked shut behind them when Koushi spun him by their joined hands to press him against the wall, free hand exploring Daichi’s body as he buried his face in his neck.

“I know, I know, I _know_ you’re safe, I know it’s mostly okay, but _God_ , when do I stop being scared?” he asked Daichi’s throat, lips ghosting. Daichi squeezed his hand, a strangle, free one coming up to the back of Koushi’s head.

“You don’t.” He worked his fingers into the bits of Koushi’s hair. “When you stop being scared, you get lazy, and lazy gets you hurt.” He pulled Koushi’s head back to look at him. “Scared is good.” Koushi knew that, of course – he had the same safety-obsessed career path – but it was different when it was about someone else. Daichi still cringed at every squeal of Koushi’s tires, every close call with a cameraman – it was actually worse to watch than be in the passenger seat. But all Daichi said was, “I understand.”

Koushi bit his lip and surged up into his mouth, teeth clacking, throttling Daichi’s free hand as he snarled his other fingers in Daichi’s shirt. Daichi sighed into Koushi and kissed him back, just as forceful, just as possessive.

* * *

The first thing filmed was the middle of the movie, since it involved the most extras and street commandeering. Daichi had never read the script, kept under lock and key in the actors’ trailers, so he just jumped where told to jump and got hit when he had to. Half the time Suga was behind the wheel of the assault vehicle, Romeo or not, since Hajime/Daichi’s character spent an absurd amount of time outside of the car they were fleeing their fellow cops in.

When filming closed for the day, Daichi was sore all over and looking forward to a shower and a bed. He slipped out of the gate, rolling his aching shoulder back – it had gotten jerked around a little more than usual today. Suga pulled up in front of him, two steps from collision, and grinned out the open window.

“Get in, loser. We’re going shopping.”

Daichi laughed and propped a forearm on the hood, leaning down to quirk an eyebrow at Suga. “Really?”

Suga’s head tilted with his beam, cheeks pink. “Nah, I just like saying that.” He jerked his head at his passenger side. “But get in anyway, I wanna go exploring.”

Daichi rapped his knuckles on the hood. “And you need me to go with you as bodyguard?”

“No, silly, I _want_ you to go with me, as a friend.” His nose wrinkled. “I can go slow if you want.”

“Liar.” But Daichi came around the car anyway, running a finger up the iridescent orange paint as he opened the door and fell in. “Know where we’re going?”

“Nope!” Suga shifted gears out of the lot – he was the only driver Daichi had ever ridden with that had truly seamless gear shifts.

Daichi had been dragged along on a few of Suga’s after-filming excursions – to Waffle House, to get gas, to find the end of this sprawling Southern city. They hadn’t been successful in the latest venture, so Daichi wasn’t surprised when Suga set a steady course into the glow of the setted sun, radio and wind eliminating need to talk.

This city was famous for its traffic, but down here in the boondocks, miles from the interstate, it was all winding, pothole-ridden streets and abandoned storefronts. Great for filming and cocaine, but terrible for literally anything else. So they drove, Suga skirting the worst of the cracks and the slower drivers – so, everyone.

Suga might be able to test the laws of physics behind the wheel, but he wasn’t about to flaunt the laws of the road for no reason. He stopped at a red light across from a strip mall, fingers drumming on the wheel as he mouthed along with the song on the radio. A Cadillac blaring bass pulled up beside them.

“Hey, old man!” the passenger yelled, leaning out his window towards Suga. “Whatchu got under that slickass paint job?”

Suga laughed, tossing his head back. Daichi gripped the sides of his seat cushion. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The light changed; Suga slammed on the gas, laughing as he shifted almost straight into third through the intersection, wind roaring through the interior as the Cadillac screeched to keep up.

* * *

Suga was the set pet by Easter. Even the other drivers, many of them older, more experienced, and miffed at getting passed over for the lead spot by this kid, lost their bitter tang when Suga charmed them with a smile and apology pastries. It helped that he was brilliant at his job, too.

Daichi watched over the assistant director’s shoulder at the take they had just filmed, a perspective shot where Romeo fishtailed in to flash a tail light at the camera before shooting off down the road. The AD sighed.

“Every day I think God we hired this kid,” he said to the screen, sipping his bottomless coffee. Daichi raised an eyebrow at him; the AD flapped a hand at the screen. “A take like that, I’d get it on the eleventh time around, maybe, not the _second_. He’s a damned natural.” He slid a sly grin Daichi’s way. “If you don’t marry him, I will.”

Daichi glared poison at him. “I’m sure Yui would appreciate bigamy, Chikara.”

Chikara shrugged, smile curved behind his lid as the take looped again. “She hasn’t met Suga yet.”

There wasn’t much Daichi could say to refute that.

* * *

Early in filming but late in the movie, Daichi caught Suga watching a stunt workout from across the gym, arms crossed on a sawhorse. When Ukai gave him a break to focus on a clump of the others, he grabbed his water and went to Suga, hopping up on the sawhorse. Suga sighed, still watching the workout.

“Y’all make it look so easy,” he said, propping his chin on his palm. “It’s not fair.”

“No one ever said it was easy, man. It’s a lot of work.” Suga looked up at him. “I could teach you some, if you want.” Suga slid his hand down so his chin was supported by just his fingertips, tawny eyes thin. “You never know when you’ll need to throw a punch right, right?”

Suga smiled, a sunrise over a mountain meadow. “Why, Mr. Sawamura, are you trying to seduce me?”

 _Yes_. “I just don’t want you to feel left out,” he said with a weak smile. “Trade secrets are for the lawyers. Here, everyone wants to learn as much as possible, or you don’t last long.”

Suga hummed, tip of his little finger caught in his teeth. “And you don’t mind?”

 _Never for you._ “Think of it as teaching practice for me,” he said, sliding off the sawhorse. “You’ll be half a double by the time filming is over, trust me.”

Suga smiled around his fingernail. “I do. Trust you.” He ducked under the sawhorse at Daichi’s beckon to stand in front of him on the mat. “So, what should I do?”

Daichi tilted his head at Suga. “You ever hit anybody before?” Suga bit his lip, shook his head. Daichi laughed. “Well, we’re going to change that.” Suga hopped on his toes, rolling his head around on his neck. Daichi tried to look over Suga’s body removed from the person that inhabited it – thin, but not overwhelmingly so, average height, rough hands from hot metal, head and shoulders always straight and back. He could work with this.

“Okay.” Daichi crossed his arms. “Get in what you think is a fighting stance so I can fix it.” Suga chuckled, but hopped one last large time into a stance, hands up. Daichi chewed on his cheek. “Hold.” Suga nodded, frozen as Daichi stepped in and bent down to adjust his feet, pointing his toes out and spreading them a few inches wider. Suga wobbled, laughing, as Daichi tapped the back of his knee to make him bend it. “With a good stance, you should be able to get anywhere, do anything, without having to waste time on your feet.” He stood straight, too close to Suga, _too close_ , but he focused on his hands, curling thumb over fingers and yanking them higher to protect his center. Suga’s breath was hot on Daichi’s sweat-slick forearms.

“I thought you guys only fake-hit each other,” he asked, tone soft. Daichi huffed.

“You have to know how to do it for real if you want it to look convincing to the camera, you know that.” He turned Suga’s shoulders with quick hands. “We’re not actually going to do anything right now, you’d pull something without stretching. I just wanted to see what I had to work with.”

Suga grinned, its usual edge sandpapered down. “And do I pass muster, captain?”

Daichi stepped back, crossing his arms as he inspected his new stance, planted feet up to Suga’s berry-pink face. “We’ll see.”

* * *

Late in August, three of Daichi’s fellow doubles squeezed into the microscopic backseat of Koushi’s coupe after an easy filming day, packing the inside with yelling and laughter. Koushi had promised to teach them how to do a hand-brake turn, although he’d frowned at the original request, hands on hips, and said none of them were the right height to be a real driver. Asahi and Ryuu, who were too tall, were surprised; Nishinoya, who was too short, was appalled. (Daichi, who was exactly the right height, grinned.)

They found the deserted megachurch parking lot Daichi had learned in himself months ago and popped out of the car to wait on a grassy median, Nishinoya jumping in the driver’s seat before anyone else could call dibs. Koushi rolled his eyes at Daichi, who smiled back as they passed each other by the grill, snatching fingers briefly. Daichi thumped down on the curb of the median next to Asahi to watch Nishinoya remember how a stick worked, propping chin on hand and elbow on knee.

“So, you guys got anything lined up when we wrap up next week?” Ryuu asked, laying back on the scruffy grass. The car jerked; Koushi’s voice snapped out of the open window, scolding Nishinoya for screwing around with his baby.

“Yuu wants to go to Yosemite after Dragoncon,” Asahi said. He pulled his ponytail tighter. “Said it’s been too long since he climbed Half-Dome.”

Ryuu snorted. “Couples’ retreat, yeah, let’s sleep hanging from a hook on the side of a cliff!” He laughed, flinging his arms out. “What a bastard – can I come?”

Asahi chuckled. “If you’ve got your own hook to hang from.” He turned droopy eyes to Daichi. “What about you?”

Daichi swallowed, on his mounting panic. “Well – I’ve been so slammed, I’ve barely even thought about tomorrow,” he admitted. “I guess I should talk to my agent-”

“Not Suga?” Ryuu asked two seconds before Asahi. Daichi scratched his head, avoiding both sets of staring eyes.

“We haven’t quite – _talked_ about post-film.”

“Dude.” Ryuu sat up. “ _Dude_. If you let this thing die on set I will punch you in the soul – _dude!_ ” He tossed a clover head at Daichi. “You gotta _talk_ to him, man!”

Daichi rubbed his burning ears. “I _know,_ okay? God, I just-” He groaned. “I can’t fuck this up, guys.”

“No shit, Sherlock. He’s like if Jesus was a motorhead.” The car screened across the lot – Koushi’s biting reprimands in cacophony with Nishinoya’s wild howls. “You ain’t gotta marry him yet, dude, but. _Dude_.”

Asahi laid a large, warm hand on Daichi’s back. “He drove that thing over here from SoCal, yeah?” Daichi nodded at his toes. “Well, offer to drive back with him. There should be plenty of time to talk then.”

Daichi nodded – froze. “Oh _God_. _Days_ driving with _him_?”

The other two laughed, watching Nishinoya twist a smoky doughnut into the concrete.

* * *

Four months earlier, Suga yanked his car to a stop in an abandoned church parking lot a few miles away from the week’s filming location, grinning at Daichi. “You ready, young grasshopper?”

Daichi cracked his knuckles and his neck. “Let’s do this.”

They got out to switch places, doing an avoidance dance at the grill until Daichi grabbed Suga’s elbows and spun him around, both of them laughing the awkward away. Daichi rubbed his stinging palms on his jeans as he dropped into the driver’s seat, pleased to find he didn’t have to adjust the seat at all. Suga slid in, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Okay.” He fixed a glare and a point on Daichi. “Don’t you hurt my baby.”

Daichi held up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Suga settled back in the seat. “Okay, let’s make a circuit around, I wanna see how you handle her before you try anything too crazy.” Daichi nodded and found the clutch, gripping the gearshift as his body fell into pattern. This was a lot different than his uncle’s pickup in the chaparral California-Nevada countryside, raw power under his feet instead of dust and too many miles, but the idea was the same. He stuttered a little going into second, but he figured it out by third. This wasn’t so bad.

Suga nodded when he stopped at their unofficial starting point. “Not bad. You get a B minus.” He winked at Daichi. “Only _truly_ deserving students get As from me.”

Daichi winked back, this beast of a car lending him the confidence that was usually lost when faced with Suga’s eyes. “Then I’ll just need to earn your respect, huh?” Suga grinned, feral, all teeth. Daichi’s pulse thrummed in his head.

“I’m gonna _love_ watching you try.” Daichi’s breath caught in his throat. “Now listen up, Sawamura, so I can tell you how it’s done.”

* * *

In the middle of June, filming still going strong, Suga turned twenty-seven. The caterers put out a cake like they had for the other cast and crew birthdays since March, and Suga got a few little gifts from the other drivers (matchbox cars, a box of sugar cubes, the tackiest fuzzy dice Spencer’s had). Daichi had found a fancy, football-sized replica of Romeo that he wrapped in a paper grocery bag and hid in Suga’s trunk for him to find, Christmas in June. It had cost a four-story jump, but, well, he’d jump off a roof for Suga any day of the year.

That evening after shooting, the doubles dragged Suga along for a celebratory bar crawl, even catching Hajime in their net on the way out. They carpooled to midtown, Suga fighting Ryuu and his rented Camaro to stay in the lead as Daichi winced at every turn – a survival instinct. Hajime was sleeping in the backseat, knocked out by the power of Greyskull and a succession of twelve-hour work days. Daichi had to shake him awake when they got to the parking garage by their first stop of the night.

Nishinoya wasted no time in screaming to the bar that it was Suga’s birthday and to line up the shots for the whole bar, raising a cheer from its patrons. (Daichi shot a look at Hajime, hood pulled up over his disguise-glasses; he nodded. He knew his job tonight was bankroll.)

As often happened when Daichi went out with this crowd, he was the responsible one, only having a beer to each tray of colored vodka concoctions dropped on their high table. Suga had landed across the circle from him, the red mood lighting of the bar glinting off his skin when he smiled at Daichi, face alcohol-flushed. Daichi had to move then, fighting through the barflies for water and some space, fleeing. They needed water.

He balanced the three glasses between his fingers, shouldering through the standing room between him and the table. He slid in between Suga and Ryuu to drop them off, two of the glasses snatched up while he kept the last captive for Suga. Daichi laid a hand between Suga’s shoulder blades as he set the glass in the circle of his arms. “Drink,” he ordered. Suga turned his head to look at him – _oh_. Their noses just brushed.

“Are you the team mom now?” Suga asked, hoarse and scratchy, whiskey breath on Daichi’s chin. Daichi licked his lips; Suga’s hazy eyes flicked down. Daichi’s hand slipped with gravity, span by span.

“Since you seemed otherwise occupied, someone had to step up.” He touched the glass with a finger, forearm on forearm. “Drink up.”

Suga wrinkled his nose. “I’m the same as you now, nerd.” He closed his eyes, wavering on his feet; Daichi gripped his shirt to keep him steady. Suga’s eyes popped open, pupils blown wide. “I’ve been meanin’ ta ask ya somethin’.”

Daichi’s heartbeat flooded his senses. “Oh yeah?”

Suga’s mouth quirked up. “Ya got any Fourth of July plans?”

Across the table, Hajime lowered his fake glasses with a finger to raise an eyebrow over their frames.

* * *

The parting shot of the film’s final cut was pulled from a day of filler, a wind-down easy day before a blessed three day weekend for the crew. Many people were flying in family from LA to have a Georgian Independence Day, but Daichi tossed a duffel bag in Suga’s tiny backseat and yelled along to movie soundtracks as they drove west to Talladega. Suga’s dad and a few of his friends in the business had the track for a week of practice, photoshoots, and testing some new cars out. Since the bitch-wife was visiting her North Carolina family with their three kids, Suga was free to join him without living in a field of glared hazel daggers. And Daichi was coming along.

At least Daichi was too worried about Suga’s highway driving to be worried about meeting his dad.

Talladega itself was a rinky tourist town an hour or so into Alabama, deserted but for the island of porta-potties in an empty field and the court-sized single color flags that lined the highway, barely lifted by the July breeze. Daichi tried to blend into the leather seat as Suga drove through security at the track gates, waving to the guards and greeting them by name, introducing them to his friend Daichi – _he’s a stuntman, you know!_ The guards laughed and waved them on, making Suga promise to show them what his baby could do these days.

“So, do they let just anyone in here?” Daichi asked as they cruised through the barren but enormous parking lot. Suga chuckled.

“Anyone who happens to be related to a driver, yeah, sure.” Suga grinned at him, eyes slits for a moment. “The track time is just because they like how my baby sounds.”

Daichi crossed his arms. “I can’t believe I ever felt sorry for you.” Suga tossed his head back with his laugh, and Daichi laughed along, helpless.

They pulled up in front of the only live garage in the string under the stands, Suga barely turning the car off before hopping out and running in. Daichi got out, but stayed by the car, leaning against it with his arms crossed as the lazy hive paused its activity to say hello to Suga, a crowd favorite, and point him in his dad’s direction. Daichi watched him approach a white guy with Suga’s full head of grey hair and embrace him, indistinct chattering flowing between power tools and sparks. His dad ran a hand over his shorn hair; Suga batted him away, face pink. He caught sight of Daichi and dragged his father over by the arm.

“Dad, this is my coworker-friend, Daichi Sawamura. Daichi, this is Dad.” ‘Dad’ rolled his eyes and held out a hand.

“You can just call me Charlie,” he said as they shook. He had his son’s rough worker’s hands. “Nice to meet you, son.”

Daichi ducked his head in a nod-bow. “Likewise, sir.”

Charlie’s eyes crinkled, just like Suga, before the pop of the hood snapped them away. “What’ve you done to her this time, boy?” Charlie asked, tone light as he came to the grill to inspect under the baby’s hood. Suga grinned and rattled off a mile’s string of technical jargon, enticing half the skeleton pit crew over to listen to his lecture and inspect his hardware. Daichi smiled to himself, content with watching Suga’s face light up outside of the context of the threat of vehicular manslaughter.

In the course of the day, father and son traced over every chrome corner of that machine, then migrated to the actual racecar, Daichi detached from his body as he watched over shoulders and listened. In the back of his head, he had known that Suga had put himself through UCLA’s mechanical engineering program, but it was one thing to know and another to hear the evidence in his vocabulary and his actions. His dad was quieter than him, more autumn than summer, but he had the same light in his face that Daichi had always assumed came from Suga’s Japanese mother’s side.

Interested mechanics asked both of them a string of questions throughout the afternoon. From Daichi’s rear vantage point, he heard a mumbled comment about how they always loved when this kid blew into their pit. Daichi couldn’t blame them. The warmth seeping through his cracks had little to do with the everpresent humidity.

But even Suga couldn’t talk forever. The pit crew filtered out before the track’s floodlights had to be turned on, making promises to meet up at a local bar after they’d washed out the grease from their hair. Suga’s dad was the last to leave, locking up the garage as they talked potential track times to test out Suga’s baby tomorrow. Daichi made his own plans to be up in the damned stands – but, he couldn’t kid himself, seeing Suga immersed in his element was worth the terror.

When Charlie got in his deceptively ordinary Lexus and drove off, Suga smiled at Daichi, pausing a few steps in front of him. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked, hands on his hips. He had a grease stain on his cheek; Daichi shook his head in answer as he reached out to thumb it away, the one gesture crumbling the well-laid walls between them. Suga stared, breath short. The hand lingered.

“I- You’re-” _You’re beautiful here_ , he thought, but that was a stupid line. Suga’s skin was soft against his palm, his eyes wide, honeydrops in the late sunlight. Words died. Suga surged forward, a jerk, a step.

“You’re incredible,” Daichi breathed.

Suga licked his lips. “Thanks, you too.” Daichi snorted, laughed – Suga grinned and snatched his shirt, clacking their teeth together before their lips slotted, breath sucking. Daichi cracked wide open, wrapping arms tight around Suga as he got pressed back into the car, warm metal against his back and warm sugar against his front. Suga kissed him _hard_ , hard enough to hurt, but Daichi pressed his tongue right back until he couldn’t breathe anymore and had to break, bent back almost double on the hood. Suga’s hands shook as they ran over Daichi’s sides, arms, neck, whatever he could reach, mouths still touching, eyes closed. Daichi laughed, kissed him again. Suga hummed, ankle winding around Daichi’s calf, but pulled away to look at him, face berry-pink. Daichi couldn’t stop laughing.

“Hajime was right,” he breathed, squeezing Suga’s waist. “I do regret waiting so long to do that.”

Suga snorted, buried his face in Daichi’s neck. “ _Stop it_.”

Daichi propped up straight again so he could perch on the side of the car, Suga slotting between his legs without an invitation. He ran his hands over Daichi’s denim-covered thighs even as he said, "Y’know, two dudes kissing outside a NASCAR garage is probably not the _best_ idea you’ve ever had.”

Daichi moaned. “ _Shit_.” Suga laughed, eyes squinted shut, shoulders bouncing. Daichi snagged his beltloops in his fingers. “Take it inside?”

“Mmm, Dad’ll get suspicious if I don’t show up tonight.” Daichi groaned, but Suga was glowing, sunset rays bouncing off its mirror paint job to catch fire on the white ends of his hair. Daichi kissed him again, helpless. Suga broke away, still laughing. “Later, Daichi.”

“ _Fine_ , Su-” Daichi paused, blinked. “Oh my God, I have _totally_ forgotten your first name.”

Suga laughed, head thrown back, held up by Daichi’s hands on his hips. “Oh, God.” He wiped his eyes. “It’s Koushi.”

“Koushi.” Daichi rubbed circles into Suga’s hips with his thumbs. “I’m gonna call you that from now on.”

 _Koushi_ smiled. “Whatever floats your boat.”

* * *

It was Labor Day weekend when filming wrapped up and the crew went their separate ways, promises to keep in touch and work together in the future the set currency. Daichi checked out of the hotel just after Koushi, handing over his streaked card key to the harassed front desk attendant before heading out into the humidity. It had been awful to be outside in, but at least they could take actual showers in exchange.

Koushi was waiting for him in the dropoff, gas tank full and orange body washed. Daichi tossed his suitcase in the trunk, then fell into his bucket seat. Koushi grinned, working his fingers on the gearshift. Daichi raised an eyebrow.

“There’s no way I could convince you to drive even close to the speed limit, huh?”

Koushi laughed and peeled out of the lot. “Not a chance, sweetheart.”


End file.
